The Memoirs of James Norrington Part 2
by Tarlea
Summary: A continuation of James's Memoirs while on board the Flying Dutchman. Begins just after the end of COTBP, through AWE.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: If you have not read _The Memoirs of James Norrington Part 1_ then I would encourage you to do so, because I can assure you that there will be plot points alluded to and characters revisited.

Also, remember that there is a Character Index in the last chapter of _Part 1_ that might be helpful to you as you read this installment.

**Chapter One**

James Norrington opened his eyes. As his eyes blinked into the light, he gradually came to remember where he was, that he had traveled to the land of the afterlife and back, rejecting death to join William Turner's crew as one of the many souls aboard _The Flying Dutchman_. He lay back on his thin pillow, releasing a sigh of deep satisfaction. By God! But it was good to sleep. He had forgotten the soothing rhythm of fatigue and rest that had been absent during his month as a disembodied soul. Now, restored, it seemed, to life, he felt all the needs and sensations of living--and now he had rested, his stomach growled to let him know that he was ravenously hungry.

He rolled out of his bunk and sat up, relishing the feeling of blood not just pumping through his veins, but for the first time in a month actually providing nourishment and vitality. He almost sprang to his feet, filled with the giddiness and freshness of a child. He dressed quickly but correctly, quietly exalting how much brighter everything looked, how much richer everything felt, the thrill of breath puffing to inflate his lungs, the vibration of his heart in his chest, and the warmth that burned in every sinew and bone and tissue of his body. For a month his body had been merely functioning. Now he truly lived.

Stepping out of his cabin his nostrils were blissfully filled with the appetizing smell of what he felt certain was cornmeal, and he followed the urgent commands of his stomach to its source. After three bowls of a thick brown and heavily spiced stew taken with a good deal of corncake, James Norrington climbed the companionway and stepped into the sunshine of the _Dutchman_'s deck.

He was hailed immediately by Captain Turner, who was standing on the bridge keeping a watchful eye on the deck, where a longboat had just emptied half a dozen passengers. Skirting around a laced and veiled senorita and her duenna, Norrington heeded the call of his new captain.

"Look at that. All Spaniards, and I don't speak a word of the language." Captain William Turner waved a hand at the new arrivals.

"I do, sir." Norrington offered, and neither man could help feeling the awkwardness of the address.

"Good. Then in a moment you shall go down and help to get them oriented, Mr. Norrington." Will replied, trying to conquer the discomfiture with authority.

"Aye, Captain." Norrington replied simply. It was terribly odd and somehow strangely comforting to be under the command of an officer again. During the few days he had served as part of Captain Sparrow's crew he had felt more like a slave than a seaman, but he knew Turner would be a good superior, if somewhat inexperienced. He even looked forward to his new occupation.

"How did you sleep?" Will questioned, once again speaking to him as a gentleman and an equal.

"Well. How long was I asleep?"

"Three days. Not surprising, considering you've been dead for a month."

Both men were unable to suppress a small chuckle.

"By the way," Norrington spoke seriously, "I might not have said so before, but I'm grateful to you, for what you did."

"What I did?" Will frowned, puzzled.

Norrington shrugged. "Taking me on as crew," He said simply.

Will wasn't sure just how to respond, so he straightened up and resumed his authoritarian tone. "Well, just see that you don't make me regret it, Mr. Norrington. Now, see to the passengers."

Norrington hid a somewhat wry grin as he brought his hand up in a crisp salute. "Aye, Captain."

Then he was off, down the steps and onto the deck where the duenna was sharp and defensive and the senorita shy yet full of smiles for the attractive young senor.

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It was decided that James would be in charge of greeting and 'orienting' new arrivals onto the ship, which left him with plenty of time to work on his memoirs. And so, an hour later, he returned to his small cabin, pulled a fresh sheet of paper from his stores, dipped his quill in ink, and wrote.

_I will not waste too much detail on the night of drinking that followed the loss of all my hopes for Elizabeth and I. Suffice to say that with the aid of Port Royal's native rum I passed from morose depression to heartbroken anger and wild jealousy, ending the evening slumped on the floor of my sitting room in abject self-pity. _

_In the morning I was awakened by Mozart's gentle pleading, and after he forced me to drink a concoction that looked like liquefied excrement and tasted like vinegar mixed with cocoa, my head stopped buzzing so loudly and my stomach was finally able to reject its contents of the night before. I let him shave, dress, and feed me before Lt. Gillete burst in, determined and brisk, and so god-damned annoying that I wanted to punch him in his smug little face. I resisted the urge, however, and soon we were slipping out of Port Royal harbor on the wings of an excellent breeze. _

_Looking back now, it seems that I have lived three lifetimes. The first ended when I arrived in Port Royal. The third was begun in the sea of rum that drowned out all of my past hopes and dreams. I can still recall the emptiness, standing on the bridge of the Dauntless, staring out at the waves opening before me, unable to feel the thrill of the ocean's swell that had lifted my crushed spirits so many times before. _

_I felt utterly and completely lost. I no longer knew what to hope for. Not even my naval career held any joy for me now. All the plans I had made had been for myself and Elizabeth. When I had imagined myself making admiral, it had always been with Elizabeth by my side. Whatever triumphs I had in life I'd planned to share with her. And now she was not there to share them with. _

_As the days passed, I slowly regained affection for my profession, dedicating my thoughts and energies to His Majesty. I began to envision a new future without Elizabeth, one solitary, save for my old companion the Sea. I vowed that I would never let another mistress enter my heart except for Her. _

_And then came the vengeance. Before I turned my back completely on my old life, I knew there was one thing I had to do. I must destroy the man who had taken it all from me. The man who still haunted me, still made me doubt my own ability, who mocked my proposed future, who seemed to place himself before me in the Sea's fickle affections. _

_I redoubled my efforts to find him, but it seemed that he had won the Sea's favor, and kept always a step ahead of us. Had I known what plans my grinning mistress had in store, I would have spurned her love, but seduced by her promises of revenge, I trusted her, and sailed my crew deeper and deeper into disaster. _

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A/N: YAY! Part 2 is finally begun! I know it's a bit later than May, but here it is. I've really been looking forward to writing Norrington's tragic fall, but as I wrote this I couldn't help feeling sorry for him. He really is so lost and he has no idea what miseries lay ahead for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_As the pain and loss I imagined extinguished continued to smolder within me, I fixed my thoughts evermore on my quest to find Sparrow. My mission became an obsession, and I began to eat and sleep less and less, shrouding my mania in the enthusiastic performance of my duty. Days turned to weeks, and weeks into months as we chased the Pearl, whose charismatic captain held fast to the Sea's good opinion and kept his ship out of my reach. _

_I did everything I could to win the Sea back again. I bent to her will day after day, certain that in just one more day she would be mine. At night during my sleepless walks around deck, I even started talking to Her, hunched over the railing in a desperate prayer. I asked her to help me find Sparrow. Again and again I promised her my fealty. I offered anything if she would only free me from the darkness of loss and uncertainty that was devouring my life. If she could not do that I begged her to somehow bring me the one who could--to bring me Elizabeth. In my darkest hours I offered her my life. _

_Why I didn't throw myself into Her emerald depths I don't know. Somehow I felt that if my life was going to be Hers, she must take it, not I. I don't know how many nights I spent staring into the water, sinking into waking nightmares; nightmares that always ended with the coffee skin, the low whining laugh, and a blackened, mocking grin on a an old and chillingly familiar face. _

_In one such dream I stood in the graveyard at Port Royal, my topcoat heavy with rain. I waited desperately for something, but it seemed that it would never come. I began to search for it, running through the cemetery, bigger and more tangled than it had ever been before. I tripped and fell on a particularly large headstone, and when I looked up I saw her standing a few feet in front of me. _

_I recognized her at once. The same witchdoctor who had saved Elizabeth's life during the epidemic. The same dark figure that I had seen over and over again, laughing at me, mocking me. She stretched out a strong and nimble hand and beckoned, while with the other hand she held out a vial that looked just like the one I had taken to Elizabeth that night so many years ago. I knew at once I must have its contents. I stretched out a hand, but I couldn't quite reach, and the vial dropped to the ground and shattered. In horror I realized that it had been full of blood, which now covered me, and even as the rain beat angrily against my skin, it did not wash away. I looked up into her eyes, to find them, not laughing, but filled with an icy warning. I tried to ask her what it all meant, when I was awakened by the sounding of the bell, telling me it was two o'clock. _

_The next morning, it seemed the Sea had decided to give in to my pleas. Buoyed by a strong and persistent current, and indefatigable winds, we sped North along the African coast. Continuing at a fine rate, we trailed Sparrow and the Pearl to the Mediterranean Sea. When we reached the Gulf of Gabes we hit heavy rain, and the crew spent several hours pumping out the bilges. We continued East, and the rain gave way to two days of peaceful calm. Then finally, the Sea revealed to me all of Her vicious, bloodthirsty plans. _

_That morning Gilette marched into my cabin with a determined look on his face. _

"_Excuse me, sir," he erupted in his controlled, barely obedient manner. _

_I was in no humor to put up with my first mate at the moment, but I had no choice. _

"_Yes, Lieutenant?"_

"_We've nearly reached Tripoli, sir," he remarked gravely._

_I raised my eyebrows sarcastically and looked down at the map on my desk with which I had just been calculating our coordinates. _

"_So we have, Lieutenant. What of it?" I replied dryly._

_He grimaced at my tone and continued. _

"_Well, that means corsairs, sir."_

_I sighed heavily. In retrospect I have to admit that Gilette's instincts, however annoying and self-gratifying, were spot-on. We were sailing in dangerous waters, favored by the legendary Barbary Corsairs. But just then I had no concern for anything except Sparrow. Early that morning a lookout had sighted the Pearl. Which meant we were only hours behind its captain. _

"_Indeed, Lieutenant. And we are a ship of His Majesty's Navy bearing 32 guns. We will manage somehow."_

_He stood there, wanting to say more, but when I continued to work as though he were not there, he merely sighed smugly, turned on his heel, and exited the cabin. _

_Little did I know how right Gilette's instincts were. Later that day, when the skies began to crowd with ominous clouds, a Corsair ship was sighted not a league away. Instead of pursuing us, as her Turkish captain usually would have done to such English 'infidels' (especially the British Navy), the ship slipped past in the opposite direction, evidently in a hurry to escape from something further East. This once again roused Gillette's--and even my--suspicions, but I ignored both, doing my best to urge the Dauntless to more speed, knowing Sparrow to be just beyond the horizon. _

_We sailed further East, and by sundown the clouds had opened into a soft but steady rain. I was on the bridge now, guiding the Dauntless with my own hands through the angry waters. And then I saw her. The Black Pearl. I began to bellows order to the crew, adjusting course and saying a silent prayer of thanks to my beloved Sea. _

_In answer she ripped the sky with a menacing flash of lighting, followed by a deafening thunder. The rain increased into a torrential downpour, and I lost sight of the Pearl. _

_The winds rose, and the sea with them. The rain continued, flooding the ship from every angle, propelled by the ruthless gusts. Soon the rain and wind were accompanied by hail, which cracked angrily against the deck. The ship began to pitch and tumble, defying any effort at control._

_I clung to the railing, thrown to my knees as I watched my ship fall to the brutality of my fickle mistress. _

_And soon I could not bear to watch, and closed my eyes. I felt nothing but wet and cold, my head reeling as the ship tossed to and fro. I became sick and vomited. I heard the shush and roar of the pounding water, the whistle and howl of the raging winds, the crack of the heavy timbers of His Majesty's Ship, the thud as the mast fell against the deck, and the bloodcurdling screams, sobs and curses of dying men. I pinched my eyes tighter and hugged the railing, clenching my jaw and waiting for the inevitable. _

_And then, from somewhere beyond the storm, above the sounds of devastation and death, came a voice, harsh and accusatory:_

"_Fahr what we want most, der is a terrible price must be paid in de end."_

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_A/N: You know, from what I can find about Tripoli's climate, it doesn't seem that they have many hurricanes, but…? Angst and death seem to be James's lot. Poor James. _

_Just wanted to say that despite the negative light of the Turks in this chapter, I really do have great respect for Turkish culture, and bow to their wonderful contributions to the theatrical tradition._


	3. Chapter 3

-1**Chapter 3**

_The next thing I remember is feeling cold. Then my senses slowly registered the still persistent rain, the weariness, and the stiff ache where my body had prepared itself for death. When I finally dragged my eyes open I realized I was floating on a large section of the Dauntless' deck. The moon glowed weakly behind heavy clouds, but the surrounding ocean was (barely)illuminated by the majority of the hull that now crackled with low flames._

_I looked and I now saw what hours before I had closed my eyes against. In the dim light, horrifying carcasses rose above the surface of the water, bobbing along in the current amidst crates and barrels and splintered pieces of painted oak. They were beyond cries for help now, but as I sat, trapped in this watery graveyard I heard their screams in my mind, deafening and unstoppable._

_Shortly, the flames died out and the rain grew more insistent. I clung to the deck and waited for the hours to slowly pass. If I was spared until morning, I decided half consciously, I would try to find land. In the meantime I sat, tormented beyond sleep, more exhausted and frightened than I have ever been before or since, hungry, cold and wet, like Dante among the damned without a Virgil to guide me. I have no recollections of my thoughts in those lonely hours. I suppose I thought of Elizabeth, of my parents, of my warm bed in Port Royal. Perhaps I prayed. It may be ungentlemanly to confess it, but I know I wept. _

_After what seemed like hours I was able to make out in the darkness another body that had drifted to the edge of my impromptu raft. He was close enough I could have reached out to close his still, cold eyelids. I did not do so, though I was simultaneously repulsed and comforted by his presence. It was perhaps this imagined solidarity that finally allowed me to drift to sleep._

_I don't know how long I slept, but when I awoke it was still grey and rainy. My companion was still there, and in a sudden effusion of shock, nausea, and sorrow I recognized the caramel skinned body of my faithful manservant, Mozart. Mere hours ago he had been serving me my breakfast and presenting my freshly polished boots. Now he lay, staring fixedly at the Mediterranean sky with an eerie, empty gaze. Partly motivated by affection and partly because I could not bear to look at his gruesome expression I reached out a shaky hand and closed his eyes. _

_The sky gradually grew lighter, but the rain did not stop. I abandoned my raft for a smaller, more mobile portion of the shattered hull and was able to salvage some breakfast; a wet mush of bread-like composition that did nothing to truly assuage my hunger. Sometime near what I guessed was midmorning, I spotted movement on the other edge of the wide distribution of debris. Moving towards it I discovered that I was not the only one who had survived the storm. There were three others; Second Lieutenant Newson, the grizzled old gun Mr. Higgot, and an ordinary seaman badly injured by the pump on which he had been working during the downpour, Mr. Morris. _

_My delight at the discovery of human companionship soon faded, overshadowed by the bleakness of our situation. We had no real food, no water, and we were drifting on a plank of hull in the middle of what were still dangerous waters. Perhaps we had survived the hurricane merely to be chopped to pieces by a crew of ruthless corsairs. We sat in our starved, half living daze, making no attempts to find a solution to our crisis. Once a ship passed our way, fortunately unconcerned with the limp bodies of shipwrecked seamen. In the distance we could sometimes determine the outlines of land, but what land? Hopeless as it was, we clung to the meager chance at survival offered upon glistening waves than face the certain death that awaited us ashore.  
_

_This outlook pervaded for the first day. Then, on the morning of the second, we awoke to discover that Morris had died during the night. This served as a kind of an awakening for the three of us who remained, and during that day we began to make plans to infiltrate the nearest port town. We decided to wait until nightfall, hoping that we would attract less attention under the cover of darkness. _

_That afternoon we dozed, so much as we could, cramped and folded along our makeshift vessel. I was tossing in a fevered dream when I heard a voice from somewhere above._

"_Bonjour en bas là! Bonjour !"_

_French. I opened my eyes. _

"_Ah, alors vous êtes vivant!" (Ah, then you are alive!)_

_I squinted up into the elderly and inquisitive face of the man I would later remember as our savior. Just at that moment all I knew was that his red uniform was almost painfully bright to my weary eyes, and that my brain was humming too loudly with hunger and slight fever to bother translating his French. I let my eyelids slide back over my eyes._

"_Oh no, monsieur! Ne pas retourner dormir! Je viens vous secourir!" (Do not go back to sleep! I am coming to rescue you!)_

_Despite my exhaustion, my brain inadvertently translated a few of the words, including 'rescue.' My subconscious kicked my senses awake, and I sat up, alert. _

"_Il y a trois de nous." (There are three of us.) I croaked, taking in the small sloop floating a few yards from our meager raft. _

"_Je Vois. Vos compagnon sont-ils bien?" (So I see. Are your companions well?) _

_I turned and roused Newson and Higgot, while the monsieur watched. _

"_Bon, maintenant vous pouvoir vous rame sur ici?" (Good, now can you row yourselves over here?)_

_I looked at my companions who nodded._

"_Oui, Monsieur." _

_And so we rowed with our crude oars for what seemed like ages, but in truth was only about twenty minutes, until we reached the sloop. At no point during those few minutes did any of us stop to think about the danger of the situation, to wonder who this man was, or where he would take us. We only saw the salvation of a ship which must have empty bunks, a lower deck to shelter us from the still falling rain, steaming mugs of tea and plates of hot food. _

_When Mr. Higgot had climbed over the railing, and we were all three blissfully sipping tea, our host introduced himself. _

"_Bienvenue. Je suis Ambroise Leandre Modeste Charbonneau, le Chevalier du le Souverain Ordre Militaire de St. John." (Welcome. I am Ambroise Leandre Modeste Charbonneau, Knight of the Sovereign Military Order of St . John.)_

_Newson and I exchanged a knowing glance. Mr. Higgot, whose education had sadly lacked instruction in the French language, kept his face impassive. I suspect he did not want Monsieur le Hospitaller to know that he didn't understand him. _

"_Qui vous est ?" (And you are?) Monsieur Charbonneau asked kindly._

_I could see no reason to lie, nor did any decent counterfeit present itself to my consciousness, so I simply supplied the truth._

"_Le contre-amiral James Norrington de La Marine de Sa Majesté dans les Antilles." I remembered my manners and gave a crisp bow, which he returned. "Ceci est mon Sous-lieutenant M. Charles Newson. Et un de notre équipage de canon, M. Higgot." _

_Newson mimicked my bow with a respectful, "Monsieur." Higgot, conscious that he was being talked about by his superiors, straightened to attention. Our host nodded smoothly in acknowledgment. _

"_Contre-amiral," Charbonneau turned to face me again, "Je devinerais que ceux-ci soient les restes de votre bateau que nous naviguons par?" (I would hazard a guess that these are the remainders of your ship we have been sailing through?)_

"_Yes." I answered gravely, with a keen pang of loss and shame. But I would not think about that now. Just now I must protect my remaining crew by currying the favor of this man who offered us salvation. _

"_I'm sorry," he returned in English. His face remained calm, but his eyes grew wide and sorrowful._

"_Merci, Monsieur." I couldn't keep a little of the anguish I felt from showing in my expression. Monsieur Charbonneau was too polite to notice._

"_Plus de votre équipage a-t-il survécu?" (Did more of your crew survive?) He gestured over the railing._

"_No monsieur. Seulement nous trois. L'ouragan a pris le reste." (Just we three. The rest were taken by the hurricane.)_

_Charbonneau nodded._

"_Bien alors nous vous prendrons loin de cette pluie et trouvons quelque nourriture pour vous." (Well, then, let us get you out of this rain and find you some food)_

"_Merci, monsieur," I said again, my stomach and muscles throbbing at the prospect of food and warmth and safety._

"_Nous sommes seulement quelques heures loin de Valetta," he commented as we followed him down the gangway. (We are only a few hours from Valetta.) _

"_Que faites-vous ici?" Newson asked. (What are you doing here? ) _

"_Nous avons vu l'ouragan. Ce n'est pas mauvais dans Valetta. C'est notre devoir pour aller chercher des réfugiés, comme vous." (We saw the hurricane. It was not so bad in Valetta. It is our duty to go searching for refugees, like yourself) He smiled again his serene thin-lipped smile. _

_We sat down at a simple table in what seemed to be an empty common area at the center of the lower deck._

"_Nous sommes très reconnaissants que vous avez fait," I managed to find my voice which was still weary and weak. My head ached. (We're very grateful you did.) _

"_Vous êtes une façon très longue loin de votre maison, Contre-amiral." (You are a very long way from home, Commodore.) He courteously left the observation at that, turning to go as we were presented with three bowls of delicious smelling soup. _

"_Quand vous avez fini, un de mon équipage vous montrera à un hamac. Je suggère que vous ayez obtenu quelque repos. Au revoir, messieurs." (When you are finished, one of my crew will show you to a bunk. I suggest you get some rest. Good day, gentlemen.) _

_With that he ascended the ladder-like steps and disappeared from view. _

_Once again restored to a full belly, Mr. Higgot could no longer suppress his natural suspicion towards our French and decidedly aristocratic host. Mr. Newson and I tried to explain to him what he did not know: that we were in the company of Hospitallers, an ancient and venerable order of knights dating back to the crusades who today devoted their lives to theprotection of the Mediterranean states and hospitality towards all Christians, that we were headed to the Hospitaller island-state of Malta, and that there we were sure to receive some of the best medical care available at its capital city's world-renowned hospital._

"_Begging your pardon, sir," Newson asked sleepily when I had finished my explanation, "Once we've reached Malta, what do you propose to do?"_

"_Find a way to reach England," I answered, stifling a yawn. "The Hospitallers aren't awfully fond of the King or we Anglicans, but we may convince them to help us. Then we report to the navy offices in London. But for now, gentlemen, I am going to bed."_

_And with that I went in search of a bunk, trying my best to ignore the chills of fever accompanied by a renewed sense of loss whenever I remembered that my ship, the HMS Dauntless, was nothing but a scattered mess of oak and canvas sinking to the ocean floor. _

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A/N: Yay! Finally a chapter 3! I have not forgotten nor abandoned dear James, it is simply that I have been too busy to write. In fact it has taken getting sick to allow me to slow down enough to finish this chapter which has been begun for some time. Thanks to all who have stuck with me and continue to read, though I cannot say when the next chapter will be posted.

I am fairly certain that the French in this chapter is abysmally translated (by online generators). If anyone can set me right, please do so. My apologies to the French for butchering such a beautiful language.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_The rain continued to fall in grey sheets as we glided into Valetta harbor, but the gentle downpour could not obscure the city's humble majesty. Sandy buildings cluttered with arched windows lined the waterfront and above them rose the domes and turrets that testified to the Hosptiallers' years of tenancy on the Island. Someday I should like to return to the city, perhaps_

James stopped, drawn from his reminisces by the realization that such a trip could never be. He let out a short sigh as he deftly scratched out the line of prose.

_I had hoped one day to return to Valetta. Perhaps as an old man in my dotage, to spend my days chatting with Ambroise in a small house where we could watch the night lights shimmering on the green water. I could have taken Elizabeth with me. She would have liked Valetta, I think. _

_What I recall most about Valetta is its overwhelming sense of serenity and honor. I felt privileged to be housed in such a haven, though for a time I felt almost sick to be there. Everywhere I looked there was another spire, another red crossed uniform, another courteous "Monsieur" to remind me that I was in the presence of the noblest of men. Knights who upheld a stern code of chivalry and honor--and here was I dashing off my schoolroom French and discoursing on Homer pretending I belonged with them, when the truth was that I had no right to stand in the same room with such men, I who had failed as I did._

_During my second day in residence at the magnificent hospital, I requested a pen and some papers. Then, propped up against several generous pillows, I turned towards the task of admitting my shame. I would have to submit a full report of the shipwreck to the navy offices once we reached London, including an inventory of the weapons, supplies and men lost. Unable to face the opening wherein I would have to describe my failure in minute detail, I decided to begin with the inventory. I began to list the names of my deceased crew. I wrote Gilette's name on the list and stared at it for a long time. Impudent and arrogant though he was, were he alive he would have become a far greater commander than I could ever hope to be. His cool judgment would have served him well as an Admiral; if he'd been commanding the __Dauntless__ that day he and his crew would be alive and sailing for home. If I had only listened to his concerns._

_I never finished that report. _

_Monsieur Charbonneau, or Ambroise as he soon allowed me to call him, was very discreet, not announcing my shame for all to hear. When questioned he would simply explain that we had been injured in the hurricane and would let me choose not to tell the rest. It was this kindness that made me truly warm to him, and it was only three days after our arrival in Valetta that I was dining at his expansive house on the hill above the hospital. After dinner we sat sipping strong Mediterranean tea infused with refreshing mint, watching the lights in the city below._

"_So, Commodore. What will you do now?" he asked. (Once he knew me better, he'd switched to English out of courtesy. Also, he'd admitted jovially, because my pronunciation could be a trifle painful at times.) _

_I looked out at the city. The scent of mint wafted soothingly from my cup. In a corner of the city a group of worshippers sang a beautiful hymn. _

"_My men seem to be recovering well. I'll have to report to my admiral soon. We should be gone in a fortnight."_

_His eyebrows rose slightly. "So soon. Where will you go? London?"_

"_Yes. If we can find safe passage." I tried not to make it sound like a plea._

_He smiled knowingly. "Some of my colleagues don't approve of me helping you."_

"_If it's trouble, we can find ano--"_

_He smoothly swatted my reply. "I trust you, Commodore, and I believe you to be a good man. Besides," he spoke this last gently, "you seem as though you could use a stroke of good fortune."_

_I nodded, as the resident emotions in my stomach simmered faintly. _

"_I want you to know I appreciate all of your assistance, Monsieur."_

_He smiled a little. "Do not dwell too much on your failures, Commodore. Someday you will be given an opportunity to regain your honor. And you will take it. We must first have the rain so we may grow the blossoms, nes pas? Let God bother with perfection."_

"_Yet you are a knight, you spend your life striving for perfection in honor. How can you say such a thing?"_

_He slowly drained his glass. For a moment his eyes focused on something far away. "I had many reasons for joining the Order. I was young then, and needed perfecting."_

_So it was, after about three weeks, that our intrepid trio left Valetta, residents of a very tidy merchant brigantine on which M. Charbonneau had secured us passage. The captain was unused to sailing beyond Gibraltar, but he was easily convinced that trade with the English would be worth the cost, supplemented by a generous donation from Monsieur le Hospitaller._

_We docked at Catagena in Spain, discreetly replenished our supplies, and continued on until we reached Plymouth. After a few days posting on a mail coach, during which time we seemed to lose , we arrived at our destination and we once again beheld the ruddy streets and dark bricked buildings of London. The city buzzed at the height of the Season, and some short enquiries soon confirmed my suspicion that my Uncle was in residence at his town house. Wanting to avoid my appointment at the navy offices as long as possible, I went to visit him. _

_His maid opened the door and showed me into the drawing room, its fashionable sofas and draping curtains reminding me vividly of the large mansion on the hill in Port Royal. I could almost imagine the door opening and Lady Barclay bustling into the room with Elizabeth trailing behind…I swallowed hard, pushing such thoughts out of my head. _

_Just then, my Uncle, stouter and grayer than I remembered him and suitably bespectacled, strode through the door. He stopped, examining my adult features and the somewhat outmoded coat that Ambroise had given me to travel in. Then he put out a resolute hand._

"_James. So you've finally come to see me, eh?" He shook my hand with a smile and sat down._

_We examined each other as we talked, I making vague replies to his inquiries about my stay in London. I found him just as I remembered; a pragmatic, genial man, with pleasing manners and a contained merriment that I had only seen revealed fully on certain rare occasions in my youth. He still smoked a great deal too much, read an excess of the legal papers (as I suspect he'd always wanted to be a lawyer, and would've done, if his business had not proved so profitable), and had an unexpected penchant for opera, which, he explained, was what brought him to town for the Season; that was when all the best operas were playing. _

_He invited me to stay with him and I accepted. He set a pair of servants to work on my uniform, to make it ready for the small dinner party he was already planning for the next evening. Though I didn't feel much like socializing, my Uncle insisted that if I was to be in town for the Season, I must form some acquaintances. He added in a pointed way that it would benefit me to have some female society after being so long at sea. I almost laughed at the triviality of it. I had almost died in the Mediterranean, for weeks consumed with such issues as revenge and honor, and here my uncle was trying to marry me off. I gathered from some of his comments that he took my detached conversation and melancholy solitude as evidence of heartbreak and I believe he suspected that I had come to London for the very purpose of catching a bride. In the first part of his supposition he was partly correct, in the second he couldn't have been further from the truth. I don't believe I shall ever marry. _

'Could I marry now, even if I wanted to?' James wondered. He decided to grapple with his uncertain mortality later. He was coming to one of the more painful moments in his story, and he felt he had better push through and get it over with.

_The dinner party was of a good size, and my Uncle's modest drawing room was well filled with lawyers, bankers, tradesmen and their wives and daughters, several of whom were uncommonly pretty and unattached. I was introduced to many of these young ladies, as well as a pair of the grander members of the company, Lord Stanley and his wife Lady Joanna Stanley. I was particularly struck by Lady Stanley's features. She was a fine looking woman, excellently dressed in a gown of midnight silk trimmed in black with a red striped underskirt. She bore the hauteur of a woman who has married well, basking in the affluence and consequence of her chosen mate. She reminded me strongly of someone I felt I knew, though I couldn't recall meeting her ever before._

_The dinner was good, and fortunately I was seated by a talkative mama who was eager to extol the virtues of her blushing daughter, which saved me from having to answer questions. I half attended to what she was saying, my eyes resting often on Lady Stanley. There was something so familiar about the way her mouth moved, her superior gaze, even her cool voice. I decided that I must find an opportunity after dinner to speak with her and to discover just who she was. To my surprise, the lady afforded me the chance to speak to her almost immediately. Once the men entered the drawing room and her husband was settled as a fourth at one of the card tables, Lady Stanley approached me, greatly disappointing my dinner companion who doubtless wanted to continue her marriage mongering. Lady Stanley drew me into a more secluded corner of the drawing room and sat down. _

"_I understand, Commodore, that you have recently lost your ship, the __HMS Dauntless__," she began without any demurs._

_I couldn't conceal the look of astonishment that crossed my face. I felt at once that this lady was a force to be reckoned with._

_She dismissed my shock a bit smugly. "The story will soon be out, Commodore. You had better submit your report before the matter develops into something even more detrimental." _

_I couldn't discern whether she was warning me or threatening me. I didn't know how to respond. She continued._

"_You may well wonder at my interest in this tragedy." Her voice was controlled, but I noticed her color rise ever so slightly and her eyes lost some of their refined disdain as she pronounced, "Before my marriage to His Lordship, I was Joanna Gilette." _

* * *

A/N: Yay! Another chapter! I was on my way to class yesterday morning and James' voice began speaking in my head and I couldn't shut him up. I apologize for the continued infrequency of my updates but stick with me and do not despair—I WILL finish this story (sooner or later). : ) Hold onto your hats folks, he's about to blow....


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_I blinked, comprehending her declaration. My mind reviewed all the evidence; the somber tones of her exquisite gown, the smug pout of her delicate mouth, the arrogant languor in her voice, and the unmistakable gaze of her heavily lidded eyes._

"_Do I have the honor to be addressing the sister of Lieutenant Andrew Gilette?" I murmured mechanically, my head swimming._

_She smirked at my civility. "Indeed you do, Commodore."_

_She fell silent, but her eyes continued to glare into my very bones. As the moments passed they moistened and glittered ever so slightly. My duty stirred and I felt I must say something to try and comfort her._

"_Madam," I began, my words hanging dry and meaningless, "your brother was a fine seaman and a first-rate officer." I stopped, searching for something more to say. She scoffed._

"_Save me your speeches, Commodore."_

_I remained quiet, wary of what would come next._

"_You may well wonder how I come to know such shocking news," she oozed, giving her eyes a few swift dabs with a small black handkerchief. _

_She stowed the small square of linen, all signs of any distress completely erased from her countenance._

"_I believe you have heard, Commodore, of my dear friend Miss Prescott's betrothal to Charles Newson?"_

_I nodded carefully._

"_Then you will hardly be surprised to discover that he called upon her yesterday morning. I happened to be visiting Rebecca myself and so heard Mr. Newson's entire explanation for his rather unexpected presence in London."_

_She paused, pleased with the distress evident on my face. I was at once angry with Newson. I had no doubt the story of my shame would be circulating through London's drawing rooms at this very moment, and by tomorrow evening it would become common knowledge to every Milord and manservant from there to Winchester. I felt the shame puncture me anew, recalling again that fateful morning that seemed a lifetime away, the glimpse of the Pearl hovering in the mist, and my foolish decision to follow her. I saw the stern faces of the Navy tribunal that would doubtless question such poor judgment in one of His Majesty's officers, felt the disgrace of standing before them with no defense to give. Another pang shot through me as I imagined the disappointed look on Governor Swann's face as he read the news of my demotion. All this flew through my mind in an instant, but this was nothing to what would come next._

"_You see, Mr. Newson explained how you led your crew on a wild goose chase for months, hunting fairies in the mist, illusions of your own grandeur," she spat cruelly._

_I lowered my eyes to one of her gown's silken roses, watching the candlelight play against its perfectly tailored folds. Thus I escaped her gaze. But I could not escape her words._

"_For the life of one measly pirate you sacrificed an entire crew. You were greedy. You wanted the glory of capturing the great Jack Sparrow. I ask you, Commodore Norrington, where is your glory now? At the bottom of the sea along with your ship and __my__ brother."_

_Her voice seemed to grow louder somehow, booming and echoing through the entire drawing room. I was sure everyone could hear it. And still the midnight petals shimmered in the dim light._

"_Did you know, Commodore, that my brother was up for a captaincy? When he returned from your little gallivant he was to receive his promotion. He'd be giving orders right now if you hadn't killed him. And he'd have made a better captain than you will ever be."_

_I felt the truth of her words, felt the shame and guilt washing over me in dizzying waves. The silken rose began to blur and swim a little. And still she was not finished._

"_I wish he'd been captain that day. A good captain listens to his officers-a good captain heeds their warnings-a good captain doesn't murder two-hundred men just for the sake of his own stupid pride!"_

_She stopped, whether because she had finished or because the look of despair in my eyes, which finally had to leave the blossom and return to her own, had arrested her tongue with pity. There was more than one tear wetting her flushed cheeks, and her eyes surged with pure hatred. I felt the breath go out of me as Lady Stanley's gaze morphed into a pair of familiar brown eyes, brimming with blame and contempt. I gasped and swallowed, trying to remove the boulder from my throat and chest._

"_I cannot give any excuse for my conduct-" I began hoarsely, but she interrupted._

"_Don't you dare to apologize to me." Her voice quivered dangerously and another single tear rolled down her cheek. Yet her expression revealed no emotion beyond fury as she pronounced her final sentence upon me. "You murdered my brother. I despise you."_

_Years passed in the next few moments of silence as her words hovered in the air, like a swarm of angry bees stinging again and again. I felt her accusations coursing hot through my veins and buzzing in my head, which began to swim and tumble. I forced myself to stand and somehow crossed the drawing room, oblivious to the curious eyes that followed me. What happened next I remember only as a series of sensations. I remember the blissful coolness of the corridor as I pushed through the drawing room door, and the faint smell of lavender on my bed sheets as I entered my chamber. Then there was the stench of London and the muffled sound of hooves clopping along the street and the feel of the sill clenched beneath my palms. The cool night air helped to steady my nerves, but it couldn't silence Lady Stanley's words which echoed inside of me, clanging painfully against my guilt-swollen heart. _

_The guilt was a fresh pain. I had always known the shame, but it was not until I had met Lady Stanley that I had realized that what she said was true-I was a murderer. I'd been seduced by the Sea and her promises, and now I saw that She had planned my punishment, payment for some long ago offense. _

_I let go of the window and slumped to the floor. I pressed my palms into my eyes and when I removed them I found them wet with a few phantom tears. A knock sounded at the door and a servant entered, no doubt sent by my uncle to check on me. I must have looked a sight, sitting on the floor in my evening clothes, and his astonishment showed on his face. He inquired whether sir would be returning to the drawing room, and receiving a gruff "no," set about helping me undress. It seemed strange to be doing something so ordinary when my soul was in such torment. _

_When I was successfully bed-clothed my attendant wished to know if sir required anything else. I had him fetch a bottle and leave word I was not to be disturbed. Then I drank. It would be the first of many nights over the next few months I'd spend wrapped in wine's embrace. _

_It was as if every negative emotion I had ever felt from the age of three converged upon me that night. The long hours passed slowly, drowned in the wine and the guilt and the shame and the heartbreak and the anger. I was haunted by a dozen spectres, conjured from memory or imagination. Lady Stanley accused me repeatedly, branding me murderer a thousand times. Gilette informed me of my incompetence as an officer, and assured me that had it been his command Sparrow would currently be hanging from a noose in Port Royal harbor. Governor Swann expressed his disappointment and told me how ashamed he was. Elizabeth begged to know why and condemned me for my conceit, before turning her favor upon Turner. Even Sparrow came to torment me, though he seemed merely amused by the situation, taunting me with his freedom and mocking me with his colorful declaration that he'd always known I wasn't what I seemed. To my memory, I have never spent a more hellish night on this earth. _

_I awoke to find that I had slept. A servant informed me that my uncle was out but wished to see me when he returned, and that the physician had called for me and would return for an examination that afternoon. I let him dress me and I ate what he put before me, but I knew that I would not see either my uncle or the physician. Sometime during the night I had made my decision. I would not stand in my shame before a tribunal, or Governor Swann, or Elizabeth. I could not pretend in honor when I knew myself to be the man that Lady Stanley and all of society had proclaimed me to be. I had lost my former life when I pledged it to the Sea. _

_My hand only hesitated once as I penned the letter that would change my fortunes forever. With my resignation safely on its way to the navy offices, I made for the harbor to return once again to my fickle mistress. I could no longer live the life of a gentleman, and so I would have to go where no gentleman would. _

_And so I ran. To Tortuga._


End file.
